Wounded Honor
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: d'Artagnan's life is changed forever. His heart gravely wounded, unexpected allies give him hope for the future. This is an entry for the Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Honor".


Wounded Honor

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: d'Artagnan's life is changed forever. His heart gravely wounded, unexpected allies give him hope for the future. This is an entry for the Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Honor".

* * *

The innkeeper ran out of his establishment into the chaotic storm…his weapon drawn, ready to do battle for the life of a friend…lost; but it was too late. The Musketeers were gone leaving misery and death in their wake. Poor Monsieur Fournier, a dear friend and most valued customer, was dead on the floor within and out here in the rain Monsieur d'Artagnan, staring up to heaven in the arms of a young man.

What had become of the world when men sworn to serve and protect break their vows of honor just to steal what small bit of coin poor men possessed?

Carefully moving across the flooded yard he approached the devastating scene before him. This must be Monsieur d'Artagnan's boy. Here was the son he travelled with; was to share the room with…on their way to Paris he had proudly announced to the patrons.

"Musketeers are men of honor" he bemoaned, "But there was no honor, not in this."

d'Artagnan barely heard the disembodied voice as the rain beat down about his shoulders…hard, heavy, unmerciful. Beneath his hands his father lay dead.

In the distance thunder rumbled and shook the earth with minute tremors. His father once told him, when he was still a child, that "This is how God speaks to us." Listening now he searched above to hear such speech but instead of wisdom, condolence, direction he only noticed how black the clouds were, how grey the sky – how the rain was relentless and would not cease.

Beneath his hands his father lay dead.

Leaning down close he met his father forehead to forehead and let the coolness there temper the heat rising in his body. Already acts of violence and revenge began to take shape. Rain funneled down beneath his collar and he shivered…his heart hardening rain drop by raindrop.

What was the word? What was the name… that slipped from his father's lips on his last breath? Pressing closer he asked, "Athos?" Irrationally he waited for a reply.

But when he pulled back to hear, his father's eyes were like glass…unseeing. Brows furrowed he gripped the front of his father's shirt and lifted him to sit up from the mud. "Athos?" he repeated. Still, his father did not speak, only tipped forward – limp within his grasp.

He bit his lip. It was true then – beneath his hands his father lay dead.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and when he looked up to see a face he did not know, reached for his sword and held it out intent to hurt, maim or kill someone for this murder. The man dropped his weapon and retreated a step; hands held up in surrender.

"I am the innkeeper" he yelled above the raging storm, and gestured toward the inn. "Let me help you."

d'Artagnan was at a loss as he did not understand. Words the man spoke to him seemed familiar but foreign. His arms shook with the weight of his sword and the girth of his father. Soon he would not be able to keep this man at bay.

Who did he say he was? What was it that he wanted? Hair plastered to his face; clothes a second skin, drenched and freezing to the bone – his arms aching…d'Artagnan peered down confused; his thoughts muddled.

Beneath his hands his father lay dead.

Slowly the innkeeper moved inch by inch; closer and closer until he then knelt by his side. Suspicious, holding his father tighter, the chill of him permeated his own skin leaving his fingers blue. As the innkeeper invaded his space, he scurried away…bringing his father with him…afraid to let go, afraid to be alone, afraid of what came next.

"Let me help you son. Let's remove your father from the elements and take him inside. There it is dry and warm."

d'Artagnan gazed over his father's head to consider the man speaking to him in a language he could not comprehend. Though his words confused him, his face was kind; his eyes sorrowful; his voice compassionate.

Here was a man with honor. Here was someone he could trust. d'Artagnan dropped his sword and let it sink down into the dark and murky puddles.

Wearily he sighed; licked salt mixed with rain from his lips; let his father go and allowed the man to help him lift his father from the mud.

* * *

Athos lifted his head from the sticky table and wiped his mouth. Reaching for the pitcher he found it empty as well as his cup. The tavern was quiet – no patrons; no keeper and most disappointingly of all no bar maid to order another round.

A warm golden glow of light streamed through the windows. Morning then, he groaned.

Hours had passed since he watched Aramis slip away; forced Porthos to leave him be, and vaguely recalled the boy peer at him curiously and then walk away.

A memory came to mind so holding onto the table he cautiously stood; then waited for his legs to adjust. He needed to get ready for the day; put his near death experience behind him and move on. Head spinning, he pushed his hat on and took a step.

Yesterday was it? Yes, yesterday – he had given his word to young Charles d'Artagnan that he would meet up with him at the garrison and speak to Treville on his behalf. He must not break his word. What little honor he had left mustn't be stained with disappointing the young man who helped save his life.

Stepping out into the sunlight he knew he should not have survived the intended execution; to live another day. He wasn't worth it. For many other sins committed over his lifetime he had deserved the firing squad and was ready to go.

But breathing in the air; feeling the sun on face; hearing Paris come to life he was glad his brothers had fought so hard. And now here he was with a second chance…no, was it the third; maybe fourth chance to turn his life around.

Nearby, at his side, he felt a displacement; and reached for the hilt of his sword. When he turned to face his stalker there was d'Artagnan standing up from the ground, pushing himself from against the wall of the tavern his eyes sleepy; his yawn wide. He even stretched…so hard that the bones of his neck popped.

Releasing the hilt Athos raised an eyebrow and considered the boy closely. This was a first. Did he spend the night out here? Waiting for what?

On shifting feet, cheeks red, d'Artagnan spoke up warily, "I only waited to see if you were alright. If I should go and fetch your friends."

Athos nodded and could see in this boy not only skill- for he had witnessed it; courage as Porthos and Aramis described; but also a sense of honor…of which he himself was sorely lacking.

"Come" he offered. And together they walked the streets to the garrison.

* * *

Athos sat across from him speaking of the Musketeers; Captain Treville…his friends; their duty to King and country. "Musketeers are men of honor" he reiterated. "But there was no honor, not in this" he continued wearily, looking down into his hands.

d'Artagnan knit his brow in concentration. Someone had said those exact words to him it seemed a lifetime ago. Words he had not deciphered until now. A vague memory came to him, but when he strained to think on it; to remember who spoke those words…all he could envision was rain. If he pressed harder there was blood; the slippery walk through muddy puddles; his father beneath his hands…

Pain spiked behind his eyes; so he let the memory go. His memories of that day; the aftermath and for some days after were spotty at best. Every now and then things came back to him; and now Athos spoke those same words and he could not understand the context.

His father had been right all along. The Musketeers were honorable, their cause a noble one; one he wished to share. Before him was the proof of that honor. A man who held his ground; who when he spoke the words, "I'm not the man you seek", believed him instantly.

What was it that he referred to? Was it that he had sought revenge? Is this what he spoke of? That he should have somehow spared Gaudet's life and brought him in to face a court of justice. d'Artagnan thought on this. None of it could be helped and he would change nothing.

After all it was what he had promised standing over his father's grave. He had given his word and swore on his honor.

"No" Athos attempted to explain. "That's not what I mean."

d'Artagnan scrutinized the man across from him. Could he read his mind?

Briefly looking down at his hands that trembled minutely Athos continued speaking, but with only a gaze that spoke of shame, of wounds that scarred deep and permanent; words that he could hear clearly that needed no voice.

Wearily Athos pushed hair from his face then clasped his hands together in a strong grip to keep himself from flying apart. "I fear I do you no honor" he whispered. "Instead of thanking you for saving my life, I drank myself into oblivion. It is my way. I apologize."

d'Artagnan tilted his head and once again could not comprehend the conversation. Did not this man stand down a firing squad with no fear; did he not promise to bring him before the Captain of the Musketeers and sponsor his application as a Musketeer in training? Hadn't he kept his promise? Did he not see the honor in this?

"You have given me your word sir, and here you are. You do me this honor and I am grateful."

Athos stood then from the bench; surveyed the garrison yard and wondered about this youth, who gazed up at him with eyes shining. Did he not truly see the man standing before him?

Placing his hat firmly on his head he watched with some trepidation as d'Artagnan stood to follow him up the stairs to begin a new life; forge a new future…one fraught with albeit excitement enough for a boy, but with danger at every turn.

He saw honor there and would find a way to skirt around his own weaknesses to nurture it.

"Let's go then" he declared with resolve and led the way. d'Artagnan's steps lithe and eager at his side.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. This is an entry for the Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Honor". If you would like to participate please visit the forum for the rules. I am so glad that these challenges continue!


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